


Family Bonds

by Rachel24601



Series: Michael and Sara's Pregnancy [3]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Scares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 19:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel24601/pseuds/Rachel24601
Summary: Sara has a pregnancy scare. Luckily, Lincoln is here to help.





	Family Bonds

Though Lincoln has been in Sara’s life for a long time now, and God knows they’ve been through things that have cemented their relationship, she’s never had an occasion to ask for his help before. She knew she _could_ do it. After all, he’s needed hers in the past, and he’s not the sort of brother-in-law you drink champagne with and share a few strained smiles.

How many times did he say it, his green eyes meaning business, _You’re family, Sara_. Then, to tease: _Welcome to the wolf pack_.

But though Sara honestly likes Lincoln – Michael loves him so much, how could she not? – she can’t really say she _feels_ like family. If anything, their unrivalled brotherly bond is an obstacle. You just see it in the way they look and smile at each other, how the conversation flows between them without effort, that they know each other inside and out. Even the lines on their faces are loaded with meaning, so they don’t always need to talk to understand what’s what.

Of course, Sara isn’t jealous of that.

It’s just her love for Michael has been so sudden, so intense, she forgets they’ve not known each other for a year yet. When she thinks about it again, him raising his blue eyes at her with expert confidence, and she, through her cynicism, deigning to look back, their love feels inevitable, like some sort of chemical reaction. Put the right components in a closed recipient, wait for the explosion and see what happens.

But when Lincoln’s around her husband, it always feels to Sara like she’s been brought back to square one. Their thirty-some-year baggage makes it hard for her to cut in, to feel like they’re all on the same footing.

So, when Sara finds herself dialing Lincoln’s number one sunny afternoon and asking him to drive her to the hospital, you can believe her heart isn’t in it. Really, she would have sooner called a cab but Lincoln lives so close to the house – barely a ten-minute drive – it would have been insulting not to ask him.

It’s Sara’s fault that Michael isn’t around to drive her himself. Today was an important day at work for him, and he’s already been trying to work fewer hours to be more available. He has been utterly devoted to her during the pregnancy – doesn’t driving her to McDonalds for a late-night snack count for something? – and she only wishes he’d allow himself a break, every once in a while.

For the last few months, he’s been working on a project that’s dear to him and she knows it’s hard to watch his colleagues make a mess of his precious blueprints.

So, when there was talk of an important reunion that’d be a great occasion to set things straight, she said, “You go ahead. It’s okay. I’m not going to melt if you’re not there to look after me for a few hours, you know.”

And sure enough, Sara didn’t _melt_. Under the shower, this afternoon – Sara takes at least a couple showers a day, now, insane how _sweaty_ she is; pregnancy is full of unglamorous and un-Hollywoodian details – she noticed a thin streak of blood blending with the water, then a red stain on the white towel when she was drying herself.

Spotting isn’t uncommon during pregnancies, but it is more common during the first trimester and Sara is now five months pregnant – she can’t really believe it’s been so long but there’s her perfectly round tummy to prove it.

The blood was so surprising in itself, the stain looked surreal on the cotton material, staring back at her as Sara waited in silent indetermination for what might have been ten seconds or half an hour.

It’s strange how love happens.

Sara’s _lived_ with the baby for months, she’s smiled at Michael’s awed face as she held his hand over her stomach and they waited for their unborn child to kick – ‘I’m not feeling anything’ Michael was like an impatient student, a junior scientist who’s done everything right for the experiment to work but who just waits as nothing happens. ‘Give it time,’ she’d answered, calm, steady, even somewhat enjoying her position, being the one in direct contact with the baby, it was easier to remain cool, not to lose her mind over the mind-blowing logic of what was going on inside her body.

And yet, she’s never _felt_ her love for the baby until just now, has never been so sure of the unquestionable link between them.

The baby can’t die.

It strikes her not as a medical diagnosis but takes its source in something other than reason. This is what religious people must feel like when atheists ask them to prove God’s existence.

He just can’t.

She and Michael have started painting the nursery – pink, even though it’s a boy, because _feminism_ – they’ve started buying tiny clothes and foolish-looking toys and they’ve already talked about names.

Suddenly, although the baby isn’t even out of her body yet, Sara can no more imagine her life without it than she can imagine her life without Michael.

“Oh God,” she whispers nervously to herself while the cell phone rings – she’s dialed the number and pressed call in a half-aware, automatic mode.

“Hey,” Lincoln picks up with that unchanging monosyllabic greeting. His voice is hoarse and cool as ever, yet he sounds a little surprised. Sara realizes she’s never called him before.

Suddenly, she’s uncertain what to say so she repeats, “Hey.” And, after a few minutes of unbearable silence, “Are you doing anything?”

“Why?”

“I, um –”

“Sara?” He sounds serious.

There’s no need to beat around the bush. In the mere way he speaks her name, in the span of a second, Sara gets this strangely logical feeling in her head that Lincoln loves her, and he’ll be in his car in the time it takes her to hang up her phone if she asks him. It’s just like this sudden, inexplicable certainty that came over her when she thought of losing the baby.

Maybe that’s what Lincoln _means_ when he says she’s family.

“I need you to drive me to the hospital,” she says.

“I’ll be right over.”

Her brother-in-law hangs up without further ado, without bothering to ask her what’s the matter, without even wondering if it’s serious. She’s never met someone as pragmatic-minded as Lincoln Burrows.

And she thinks there’s something a little comforting and charming about how scarce he is with words.

 

…

 

The hospital is only a twenty-minute ride away, but it feels long, just sitting, still and silent in Lincoln’s car, though not exactly awkward.

“It’s probably nothing.” Sara speaks the words she’s repeated to herself half a dozen time since the shower. As she hears them fill the cozy atmosphere of the vehicle, she’s aware of how pointless it is, that she’s only trying to deny how scared she is when the words reek with impotent fear, but she can’t seem to stop. “I’ve seen it happen a lot of time, spotting, I mean. Even in the second trimester. But better safe than sorry.” The phrase sounds so trivial to describe the possibility of a miscarriage that Sara feels a sudden, nauseated stab of self-hatred. “I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

Of course, Lincoln is silent all the while, keeping his eyes cautiously on the road.

She should have known Lincoln wasn’t the kind to feed such useless rambling, would prefer a grave silence to an anxiety-filled blabber.

In the end, after such a long pause that she can’t even remember she’d engaged conversation in the first place, he asks, sounding calm and collected. “Did you tell Michael?”

The mention makes Sara oddly uncomfortable. The brotherly legitimacy Lincoln evokes is different from the one Sara can claim as a wife.

“No,” she wants to sound sure of herself when she says this. “He’s at work. Today’s important for him. It’d be silly to frighten him when there’s probably nothing wrong with the baby.”

Lincoln doesn’t deny that, nor does he sigh or otherwise signify disapproval. He only says, without taking his eyes off the road. “He would want to know.”

Sara hates that he’s right and that he would think she doesn’t know that. The reason why she didn’t call her husband isn’t his important reunion. _Of course_ , Michael would want to know, would want to be there for her even if it is just a little bleeding – he’d probably be clutching her hand tight as if it were the end of the world. And it’s precisely why she _can’t_ call him, cannot stand the thought of his panic.

Right now, when it’s just her – well, her and Lincoln – she can act like she has things under control, because Lincoln’s impassive surface is so efficient to prevent her own fear from ricocheting all over the place. If it were Michael driving her to the hospital, his failure to mask his concern would draw hers out immediately.

And she can’t face those fears, can’t tolerate the thought that something’s wrong with the baby.

“Well,” Sara answers, digs deep in what remains of her composure. “There’s no point in him driving all the way now. By the time he gets here, anyway, I’ll probably know for sure there was no reason to worry.”

Lincoln doesn’t argue or act like this is so much as a decent argument. He just drives in silence, because it’s what Sara called him for, and she should know that he’s capable of acting in her best interest.

Not just his brother’s.

 

…

 

It struck Sara as ridiculous that you could be a doctor and a mother simultaneously though not manage to bring both sides completely at peace. While the former side of Sara’s brain – professional and surgeon – was satisfied on hearing the bleeding was caused by a ‘minor trauma to the cervix’, the latter motherly side focused solely on the words ‘trauma’ and ‘cervix’, making nonsensical loops of them until her heartbeat was racing wildly, even as she smiled politely at the doctor and assured him that, yes, she understood perfectly that her child’s life and hers were in no danger.

Although it should feel like a victory, when Lincoln drives her back home and there was no need to worry Michael after all, Sara feels no such thing, actually feels a little anxious still. Pride stops her from fully acknowledging how eager she is for Michael to get home.

Back when they were fugitives, it felt as if just plain ordinary life would be heaven – waiting for dinner to cook while cuddling on the couch, sharing unexciting details about their day – and it truly has been. Sara hasn’t betrayed the old survivor in her, is aware of how precious each moment of their quiet marriage life is.

“You must be relieved,” Lincoln says, draws her out of her thoughts.

It’s not so much like him to make conversation. Sara realizes she’s never actually spent a moment alone with Lincoln before.

“Yes,” she lies, which somehow gets him smiling.

“Being a parent’s a little like hell, isn’t it?”

“What?” She’s so surprised she can’t think of holding back.

“Having something in the world you care so much about, that isn’t tied back to you like one of your limbs and yet, you feel their pain worse than your own. Hell,” he repeats. “Right?”

Despite herself, Sara smiles back. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

“Better get used to it,” he teases. Yes, actually teases.

“So,” she hazards, “it doesn’t get better?”

“Nope.”

Deep down, Sara knew it wouldn’t. The terrible worry that made her so aware she loved the baby won’t ever die out so long as she’s alive. For some reason, she’d never thought that Lincoln worried much about LJ – maybe only because he talks about it so little, isn’t one to extend on how he feels.

It feels a little uncanny to imagine all this time, from the moment she called him, Linc knew exactly what she was feeling. There’s a sudden urge to laugh, at the thought that this is the first thing they’ve ever had in common, except for Michael.

“But that’s family for you,” he continues. “There’s just no living all for your selfish self anymore. Not that I’m talking about you here, of course,” he adds, “or that I think I’m teaching you anything.”

Then, suddenly, Sara knows exactly what he’s talking about.

And she can’t understand whatever made her so uncomfortable hearing Lincoln call her _family_ before.

They were family from the moment she fell in love with his brother, when she left the infirmary door unlocked and when she was tortured in New Mexico, refusing to give Kellerman the key to his exoneration.

They’ve been family all along.

“Well, at any rate,” she answers, a little dazed by her own realization. “Thanks for driving me.”

“Anytime,” he says with a casual smile, shrugging off the solemnity of the moment like it’s nothing much. But what he means, Sara knows, is _Always_. She can see it in the silent gleam of his green eyes even as they never waver from the road.

Family goes much deeper than blood bonds.

And this one, odd and unusual as it is, is the first one she’s ever known.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know your thoughts and if you would like more works in this series. If you’ve got ideas for other stories I’m all ears.


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